Nimzar
A warlock hunted by an inquisition Backstory ...As I crested the hill overlooking the Demonhorn Spire seven years ago, I had had no idea that I would be, as I am now, an object of the obsessions of the Inquisition of Moradin. The Tower of Warlocks, the place of my birth, my rebirth, my early childhood – in fact my whole life, until seven years ago. It is both the reason for my existence and the source of my troubles – and the source of my ability to deal with them. My parentage and birth are unknown and irrelevant to me. The warlocks of the tower took – or accepted – me from my parents and used me in a ritual they had developed. The rite required, among other things, an infant, no older than one year. Sapping power from a demon of no small strength, they forged within me a connection to the near-infinite maelstrom of chaos and magic which exists in the Abyss. Creating the link is not nearly as difficult as is preventing the power from overwhelming and consuming the host body. The ritual was successful, at least as far as could be told. It would be some time before I was old enough to exert any control over my newfound powers. Because the warlocks who developed the rite were unfamiliar with its actual effects, what they called "training" mostly consisted of provoking me into using and learning to control my powers. It was many years before I succeeded in invoking even a minor effect from demonic power – more years than some of the warlocks had remaining to live, despite their best efforts to coax magic out of me. Once I actually showed some sign of being "successful", my standing among the warlocks drastically changed. From being little more than a long-term experiment – one of several; my earliest friends were other children who had been altered in various ways – I was given an apprenticeship. I will not speak of my apprenticeship; it is long in the telling and would likely bore you. Let us simply say that warlocks are not much kinder to their apprentices than their experiments, though the former remains a far better position. Once I had completed my years-in-training (again, the word "training" should be taken quite loosely) I was allowed to begin to accompany the leaders of our enclave on their missions to increase our influence in the surrounding lands. Often, we were able to obtain what we wanted through more-or-less peaceful negotiation. If not, we took it through violent raids. Seven years ago, I was sent on my first solitary mission – to convince the Elves living in the nearby forest that it would be in their best interests to pay homage to our clan. I must confess being slightly disappointed in the ease of the task, though the elves ended up never having to pay the tribute. I returned home, full of confidence and pride in myself, and then I crested the hill and looked down upon what remained of the Tower. All pride vanished from me in that instant, and as I shifted through the rubble for survivors, I found that I was no longer confident. I was deeply, deeply frightened. The warlocks of the Tower were no half-witted hedge wizards. Whoever had done this was someone, or several someones, of great power. At first, I suspected a fiend of some sort – a demon prince, or something of similar strength - had been summoned and broken free. However, I quickly realized that the bodies, though burnt and broken, had not been eaten as a fiend would have likely done, and with the dissipation of the Tower's own powerful enchantments such a creature's magical aura would have been easily detectable. So I set off on my journey to find the ones responsible for the destruction of my enclave and have my long, bloody revenge. I traveled to many cities, on many planes, inquiring and interrogating as best I could. My search was fruitless, until I quite suddenly found myself under attack by my quarry- the Paladins of the Inquisition of Moradin. I was their prey, more so than they were mine, for they knew who and what they sought and took great pains to cover their tracks, so that they could finish their extermination of my clan with surprise as their ally. Though the Paladins I had encountered were only a small band, I only escaped because they had badly underestimated my abilities. I slew them all and began my search anew, now with actual knowledge of my quarry. They did not consider me a target of real significance, merely a nuisance; a loose thread marring their otherwise perfect tapestry of extermination. When my would-be slayers failed to report, that illusion would be lost, and they would begin to send more powerful warriors against me. I was powerful, but young. The Inquisition had dozens of highly trained and battle-hardened paladins who channeled holy powers even greater than my abyssal magics. I realized I would have to be more careful in the future. I would have to disguise my trail even better than the Inquisition had hidden theirs. So began the next stage of my quest. I took to the darkest and shadiest of alleys, asked questions only of those who were no friends of the Inquisition or whose silence could be bought with gold or violence. I took opportunities to sabotage their efforts when I could, but always remained unseen and unknown. More than once my efforts were insufficient, and their latest hunting party found me. Fortunately, they continued to underestimate me, and each time I slew the entire group and destroyed the evidence, disappearing from the area and not returning for months or years. The fools continued to send their weaklings against me, though my powers continued to grow, and I soon felt that I was dealing a significant blow to their organization's membership. I had a plan that I believe would have allowed me to severely damage their efforts, not just against me but everywhere, perhaps even rock the foundation of their entire group. It was a good plan, and one I thought would allow me to remain unknown, but then I made a mistake. I slew the nephew of Moradin's High Inquisitor. I knew the boy had relatives in the Inquisition – that was part of why I killed him – but I had not known that he was connected so highly, or that he was like the son that the chaste Archpaladin could not have, the apple of his eye. Wrath flew through the organization like a plague. Suddenly I was a priority target, surpassing, I am told, several high cultists and a beholder on their Index of the Condemned. Virtually the entire Inquisition was actively hunting me. It wasn't long before one of their sorties found me despite my best efforts, and I was forced to flee for my life. These were no squires or yearlings, but no less than half a dozen holy warriors, devoted body and soul to the deaths of "abominations" such as me. I could not hope to defeat them then, and I cannot defeat them as I am now. I can only escape, and hide, and try to hide my passage. I have done this for almost half a year, and I fear my time is running out. I cannot evade them forever: I will make a mistake, or they will be lucky. I can no longer survive on my own. Dre'friend, I have performed your tasks. I have passed your tests. I have told you my story, and now you must surely know more about me than even the paladins do. You know what I can do, and you know that I need your help. All I ask is that you use what influence you have to distract the paladins, to give me time. The Inquisition has darker shadows than me to slay, and I think they will call off their stronger dogs soon. Once they have, I can disappear into the shadows again, and resume my slow work of breaking them. There is much for you to gain from helping me, of course. Your organization is exactly what the Inquisition lives to destroy, and if they find that we have had dealings, they will exterminate you. Besides, if you help me, I will be in your debt… And that debt may be a valuable asset all its own.